Aeneas, by that fleeting vision struckwith an exceeding awe, straightway leaped forthfrom slumber's power, and to his followers cried :“Awake, my men! Away! Each to his placeupon the thwarts! Unfurl at once the sails!A god from heaven a second time sent downurges our instant flight and bids us cutthe twisted cords. Whatever be thy name,behold, we come, O venerated Power!Again with joy we follow! Let thy graceassist us as we go! And may thy powerbring none but stars benign across our sky.”So saying, from its scabbard forth he flashedthe lightning of his sword, with naked bladestriking the hawsers free. Like ardor seizedon all his willing men, who raced and ran;and, while their galleys shadowed all the sea,clean from the shore they scudded, with strong strokessweeping the purple waves and crested foam.
Aurora's first young beams to earth were pouringas from Tithonus' saffron bed she sprang;while from her battlements the wakeful Queenwatched the sky brighten, saw the mated sailspush forth to sea, till all her port and strandheld not an oar or keel. Thrice and four timesshe smote her lovely breast with wrathful hand,and tore her golden hair. “Great Jove,” she cries,“Shall that departing fugitive make mockof me, a queen? Will not my men-at-armsdraw sword, give chase, from all my city thronging?Down from the docks, my ships! Out, out! Begone!Take fire and sword! Bend to your oars, ye slaves!What have I said? Where am I? What mad thoughtsdelude this ruined mind? Woe unto thee,thou wretched Dido, now thy impious deedsstrike back upon thee. Wherefore struck they not,as was most fit, when thou didst fling awaythy sceptre from thy hand? O Iying oaths!O faith forsworn! of him who brings, they boast,his father's gods along, and bowed his backto lift an age-worn sire! Why dared I notseize on him, rend his body limb from limb,and hurl him piecemeal on the rolling sea?Or put his troop of followers to the sword,ascanius too, and set his flesh beforethat father for a feast? Such fearful warhad been of doubtful issue. Be it so!What fears a woman dying? Would I hadattacked their camp with torches, kindled flamefrom ship to ship, until that son and sire,with that whole tribe, were unto ashes burnedin one huge holocaust—myself its crown!Great orb of light whose holy beam surveysall earthly deeds! Great Juno, patronessof conjugal distress, who knowest all!Pale Hecate, whose name the witches cryat midnight crossways! O avenging furies!O gods that guard Queen Dido's dying breath!Give ear, and to my guiltless miseryextend your power. Hear me what I pray!If it be fated that yon creature curstdrift to the shore and happy haven find,if Father Iove's irrevocable wordsuch goal decree—there may he be assailedby peoples fierce and bold. A banished man,from his Iulus' kisses sundered far,may his own eyes see miserably slainhis kin and kind, and sue for alien arms.nor when he basely bows him to receiveterms of unequal peace, shall he be blestwith sceptre or with life; but perish therebefore his time, and lie without a graveupon the barren sand. For this I pray.This dying word is flowing from my heartwith my spilt blood. And—O ye Tyrians! Isting with your hatred all his seed and tribe forevermore. This is the offering my ashes ask. Betwixt our nations twain, No Iove! No truce or amity! Arise, Out of my dust, unknown Avenger, rise!To harry and lay waste with sword and flamethose Dardan settlers, and to vex them sore,to-day, to-morrow, and as long as poweris thine to use! My dying curse arraysshore against shore and the opposing seasin shock of arms with arms. May living foespass down from sire to son insatiate war!”
She said. From point to point her purpose flew,seeking without delay to quench the flameof her loathed life. Brief bidding she addressedto Barce then, Sichaeus' nurse (her ownlay dust and ashes in a lonely gravebeside the Tyrian shore), “Go, nurse, and callmy sister Anna! Bid her quickly batheher limbs in living water, and procuredue victims for our expiating fires.bid her make haste. Go, bind on thy own browthe sacred fillet. For to Stygian Joveit is my purpose now to consummatethe sacrifice ordained, ending my woe,and touch with flame the Trojan's funeral pyre.”The aged crone to do her bidding ranwith trembling zeal. But Dido (horror-struckat her own dread design, unstrung with fear,her bloodshot eyes wide-rolling, and her cheektwitching and fever-spotted, her cold browblanched with approaching death)—sped past the doorsinto the palace garden; there she leaped,a frenzied creature, on the lofty pyreand drew the Trojan's sword; a gift not askedfor use like this! When now she saw the garbof Ilian fashion, and the nuptial couchshe knew too well, she lingered yet awhilefor memory and tears, and, falling proneon that cold bed, outpoured a last farewell:“Sweet relics! Ever dear when Fate and Heavenupon me smiled, receive my parting breath,and from my woe set free! My life is done.I have accomplished what my lot allowed;and now my spirit to the world of deathin royal honor goes. The founder Iof yonder noble city, I have seenwalls at my bidding rise. I was avengedfor my slain husband: I chastised the crimesof our injurious brother. Woe is me!Blest had I been, beyond deserving blest, if but the Trojan galleys ne'er had mooredupon my kingdom's bound!”So saying, she pressedone last kiss on the couch. “Though for my deathno vengeance fall, O, give me death!” she cried.“O thus! O thus! it is my will to takethe journey to the dark. From yonder seamay his cold Trojan eyes discern the flamesthat make me ashes! Be this cruel deathhis omen as he sails!” She spoke no more.But almost ere she ceased, her maidens allthronged to obey her cry, and found their Queenprone fallen on the sword, the reeking steelstill in her bloody hands. Shrill clamor flewalong the lofty halls; wild rumor spreadthrough the whole smitten city: Ioud lament,groans and the wail of women echoed onfrom roof to roof, and to the dome of airthe noise of mourning rose. Such were the cryif a besieging host should break the wallsof Carthage or old Tyre, and wrathful flameso'er towers of kings and worshipped altars roll.Her sister heard. Half in a swoon, she ranwith trembling steps, where thickest was the throng,beating her breast, while with a desperate handshe tore at her own face, and called aloudupon the dying Queen. “Was it for thismy own true sister used me with such guile?O, was this horrid deed the dire intentof altars, Iofty couch, and funeral fires?What shall I tell for chiefest of my woes?Lost that I am! Why, though in death, cast offthy sister from thy heart? Why not inviteone mortal stroke for both, a single sword,one agony together? But these handsbuilt up thy pyre; and my voice imploredthe blessing of our gods, who granted methat thou shouldst perish thus—and I not know!In thy self-slaughter, sister, thou hast slainmyself, thy people, the grave counsellorsof Sidon, and yon city thou didst buildto be thy throne!—Go, fetch me water, there!That I may bathe those gashes! If there beone hovering breath that stays, let my fond lipsdiscover and receive!” So saying, she sprang upfrom stair to stair, and, clasping to her breasther sister's dying form, moaned grievously,and staunched the dark blood with her garment's fold.Vainly would Dido lift her sinking eyes,but backward fell, while at her heart the woundopened afresh; three times with straining armshe rose; three times dropped helpless, her dimmed eyesturned skyward, seeking the sweet light of day, —which when she saw, she groaned. Great Juno thenlooked down in mercy on that lingering painand labor to depart: from realms divineshe sent the goddess of the rainbow wing,Iris, to set the struggling spirit freeand loose its fleshly coil. For since the endcame not by destiny, nor was the doomof guilty deed, but of a hapless wightto sudden madness stung, ere ripe to die,therefore the Queen of Hades had not shornthe fair tress from her forehead, nor assignedthat soul to Stygian dark. So Iris cameon dewy, saffron pinions down from heaven,a thousand colors on her radiant way,from the opposing sun. She stayed her flightabove that pallid brow: “I come with powerto make this gift to Death. I set thee freefrom thy frail body's bound.” With her right handshe cut the tress: then through its every limbthe sinking form grew cold; the vital breathfled forth, departing on the viewless air. Meanwhile Aeneas, now well launched away,steered forth with all the fleet to open sea,on his unswerving course, and ploughed the waves,sped by a driving gale; but when his eyeslooked back on Carthage, they beheld the glareof hapless Dido's fire. Not yet was knownwhat kindled the wild flames; but that the pangof outraged love is cruel, and what the heartof desperate woman dares, they knew too well,and sad foreboding shook each Trojan soul.Soon in mid-sea, beyond all chart of shore,when only seas and skies were round their way,full in the zenith loomed a purple cloud,storm-laden, dark as night, and every wavegrew black and angry; from his Iofty seatthe helmsman Palinurus cried, “Alas!What means this host of storms encircling heaven?What, Neptune, wilt thou now?” He, having said,bade reef and tighten, bend to stronger stroke,and slant sail to the wind; then spake again:“High-souled Aeneas, not if Jove the Kinggave happy omen, would I have good hopeof making Italy through yonder sky.Athwart our course from clouded evening-starrebellious winds run shifting, and the airinto a cloud-wrack rolls. Against such foestoo weak our strife and strain! Since now the handof Fortune triumphs, let us where she callsobedient go. For near us, I believe,lies Eryx' faithful and fraternal shore:here are Sicilian havens, if my mindof yon familiar stars have knowledge true.”then good Aeneas: “For a friendly windlong have I sued, and watched thee vainly strive.Shift sail! What happier land for me and mine,or for our storm-beat ships what safer shore,than where Dardanian Acestes reigns;the land whose faithful bosom cherishesAnchises' ashes?” Heedful of his word,they landward steer, while favoring zephyrs fillthe spreading sail. On currents swift and strongthe fleet is wafted, and with thankful soulthey moor on Sicily's familiar strand. From a far hill-top having seen with joythe entering ships, and knowing them for friends,good King Acestes ran to bid them hail.Garbed in rough pelt of Libyan bear was he,and javelins he bore, in sylvan guise:for him the river-god Crimisus siredof Trojan wife. Remembering in his hearthis ancient blood, he greeted with glad wordsthe wanderers returned; bade welcome tohis rude abundance, and with friendly giftstheir weariness consoled. The morrow morn,soon as the new beams of a golden dayhad banished every star, Aeneas calleda council of his followers on the shore,and from a fair green hillock gave this word:“Proud sons of Dardanus, whose lofty linenone but the gods began! This day fulfilsthe annual cycle of revolving time,since the dear relics of my god-like sireto earth we gave, and with dark offerings duebuilt altars sorrowful. If now I err not,this is my day—ye gods have willed it so! —for mourning and for praise. Should it befallme exiled in Gaetulia's wilderness,or sailing some Greek sea, or at the wallsof dire Mycenae, still would I renewunfailing vows, and make solemnitywith thankful rites, and worshipful array,at altars rich with gifts. But, lo, we come,beyond all hope, where lie the very bonesof my great sire. Nor did it come to passwithout divine intent and heavenly power,that on these hospitable shores we stand.Up, then! For we will make a festal day,imploring lucky winds! O, may his spiritgrant me to build my city, where his shrinesforever shall receive perpetual vowsmade in his name! This prince of Trojan line,Acestes, upon every ship bestowsa pair of oxen. To our offerings callthe powers that bless the altars and the firesof our ancestral hearth; and join with thesethe gods of good Acestes. Presently,when the ninth dawn shall bring its beam benignto mortal men, and show the radiant world,or all my Teucrian people I ordaina holiday of games; the flying shipsshall first contend; then swiftest runners trya foot-race; after that the champions boldwho step forth for a cast of javelins,or boast the soaring arrow; or fear notthe boxing-bout, with gauntlet of thick thongs.This summons is for all; let all have hopeto earn some noble palm! And from this hourspeak but well-boding words, and bind your browswith garlands green.” So saying, he twined a wreathof his own mother's myrtle-tree, to shadehis sacred brow; the hero Helymus,and King Acestes for his tresses gray,like coronals took on; Ascaniusand all the warrior youth like emblems wore.Then in th' attendant throng conspicuous,with thousands at his side, the hero movedfrom place of council to his father's tomb.There on the ground he poured libation due,two beakers of good wine, of sweet milk two,two of the victim's blood—and scattered flowersof saddest purple stain, while thus he prayed:“Hail, hallowed sire! And hail, ye ashes dearof him I vainly saved! O soul and shadeof my blest father! Heaven to us deniedto find together that predestined landof Italy, or our Ausonian streamof Tiber—ah! but where?” He scarce had said,when from the central shrine a gliding snake,coiled seven-fold in seven spirals wide,twined round the tomb and trailed innocuous o'erthe very altars; his smooth back was fleckedwith green and azure, and his changeful scalesgleamed golden, as the cloud-born rainbow flingsits thousand colors from th' opposing sun.Aeneas breathless watched the serpent windamong the bowls and cups of polished rim,tasting the sacred feast; where, having fed,back to the tomb all harmless it withdrew.Then with new zeal his sacrifice he bringsin honor of his sire; for he must deemthat serpent the kind genius of the place,or of his very father's present shadesome creature ministrant. Two lambs he slew,the wonted way, two swine, and, sable-hued,the yoke of bulls; from shallow bowl he pouredlibation of the grape, and called aloudon great Anchises' spirit, and his shade,from Acheron set free. Then all the throng,each from his separate store, heap up the shrineswith victims slain; some range in order fairthe brazen cauldrons; or along the grass,scattered at ease, hold o'er the embers brightthe spitted flesh and roast it in the flames. Arrived the wished-for day; through cloudless skythe coursers of the Sun's bright-beaming carbore upward the ninth morn. The neighboring folkthronged eager to the shore; some hoped to seeAeneas and his warriors, others fainwould their own prowess prove in bout and game.Conspicuous lie the rewards, ranged in sightin the mid-circus; wreaths of laurel green,the honored tripod, coronals of palmfor conquerors' brows, accoutrements of war,rare robes of purple stain, and generous weightof silver and of gold. The trumpet's callproclaimed from lofty mound the opening games.
First, side by side, with sturdy, rival oars,four noble galleys, pride of all the fleet,come forward to contend. The straining crewof Mnestheus bring his speedy Pristis on, —Mnestheus in Italy erelong the sireof Memmius' noble line. Brave Gyas guideshis vast Chimaera, a colossal craft,a floating city, by a triple rowof Dardan sailors manned, whose banks of oarsin triple order rise. Sergestus, heof whom the Sergian house shall after spring,rides in his mighty Centaur. Next in line,on sky-blue Scylla proud Cloanthus rides —whence thy great stem, Cluentius of Rome! Fronting the surf-beat shore, far out at searises a rock, which under swollen waveslies buffeted unseen, when wintry stormsmantle the stars; but when the deep is calm,lifts silently above the sleeping waveits level field,—a place where haunt and playflocks of the sea-birds, Iovers of the sun.Here was the goal; and here Aeneas seta green-leaved flex-tree, to be a markfor every captain's eye, from whence to veerthe courses of their ships in sweeping curvesand speed them home. Now places in the lineare given by lot. Upon the lofty sternsthe captains ride, in beautiful arrayof Tyriao purple and far-flaming gold;the crews are poplar-crowned, the shoulders barerubbed well with glittering oil; their straining armsmake long reach to the oar, as on the thwartsthey sit attentive, listening for the callof the loud trumpet; while with pride and feartheir hot hearts throb, impassioned for renown.Soon pealed the signal clear; from all the lineinstant the galleys bounded, and the airrang to the rowers, shouting, while their armspulled every inch and flung the waves in foam;deep cut the rival strokes; the surface fairyawned wide beneath their blades and cleaving keels.Not swifter scour the chariots o'er the plain,sped headlong from the line behind their teamsof mated coursers, while each driver shakesloose, rippling reins above his plunging pairs,and o'er the lash leans far. With loud applausevociferous and many an urgent cheerthe woodlands rang, and all the concave shoresback from the mountains took the Trojan cryin answering song. Forth-flying from his peers,while all the crowd acclaims, sped Gyas' keelalong the outmost wave. Cloanthus nextpushed hard upon, with stronger stroke of oarsbut heavier ship. At equal pace behindthe Pristis and the Centaur fiercely strivefor the third place. Now Pristis seems to lead,now mightier Centaur past her flies, then bothride on together, prow with prow, and cleavelong lines of foaming furrow with swift keels.Soon near the rock they drew, and either shipwas making goal,—when Gyas, in the lead, and winner of the half-course, Ioudly hailedmenoetes, the ship's pilot: “Why so farto starboard, we? Keep her head round this way!Hug shore! Let every oar-blade almost grazethat reef to larboard! Let the others takethe deep-sea course outside!” But while he spoke,Menoetes, dreading unknown rocks below,veered off to open sea. “Why steer so wide?Round to the rock, Menoetes!” Gyas roared, —again in vain, for looking back he sawcloanthus hard astern, and ever nearer,who, in a trice, betwixt the booming reefand Gyas' galley, lightly forward thrustthe beak of Scylla to the inside course,and, quickly taking lead, flew past the goalto the smooth seas beyond. Then wrathful griefflamed in the warrior's heart, nor was his cheekunwet with tears; and, reckless utterlyof his own honor and his comrades, lives,he hurled poor, slack Menoetes from the poopheadlong upon the waters, while himself,pilot and master both, the helm assuming,urged on his crew, and landward took his way.But now, with heavy limbs that hardly wonhis rescue from the deep, engulfing wave,up the rude rock graybeard Menoetes climbedwith garment dripping wet, and there dropped downupon the cliff's dry top. With laughter loudthe Trojan crews had watched him plunging, swimming,and now to see his drink of bitter brinespewed on the ground, the sailors laughed again.
But Mnestheus and Sergestus, coming last,have joyful hope enkindled in each heartto pass the laggard Gyas. In the leadSergestus' ship shoots forth; and to the rockruns boldly nigh; but not his whole long keelmay pass his rival; the projecting beakis followed fast by Pristis' emulous prow.Then, striding straight amidships through his crew,thus Mnestheus urged them on: “O Hector's friends!Whom in the dying hours of Troy I chosefor followers! Now stand ye to your best!Put forth the thews of valor that ye showedin the Gaetulian Syrtes, or that seaIonian, or where the waves race bythe Malean promontory! Mnestheus nowhopes not to be the first, nor do I strivefor victory. O Father Neptune, givethat garland where thou wilt! But O, the shameif we are last! Endure it not, my men!The infamy refuse!” So, bending low,they enter the home-stretch. Beneath their strokethe brass-decked galley throbs, and under herthe sea-floor drops away. On, on they fly!Parched are the panting lips, and sweat in streamspours down their giant sides; but lucky chancebrought the proud heroes what their honor craved.For while Sergestus furiously drovehis ship's beak toward the rock, and kept insidethe scanty passage, by his evil starhe grounded on the jutting reef; the cliffsrang with the blow, and his entangled oarsgrated along the jagged granite, whilethe prow hung wrecked and helpless. With loud cryupsprang the sailors, while the ship stood still,and pushed off with long poles and pointed iron,or snatched the smashed oars from the whirling tide.Mnestheus exults; and, roused to keener strifeby happy fortune, with a quicker strokeof each bright rank of oars, and with the breezehis prayer implored, skims o'er the obedient waveand sweeps the level main. Not otherwisea startled dove, emerging o'er the fieldsfrom secret cavern in the crannied hillwhere her safe house and pretty nestlings lie,soars from her nest, with whirring wings—but soonthrough the still sky she takes her path of airon pinions motionless. So Pristis spedwith Mnestheus, cleaving her last stretch of sea,by her own impulse wafted. She outstrippedSergestus first; for he upon the reeffought with the breakers, desperately shoutingfor help, for help in vain, with broken oarscontriving to move on. Then Mnestheus ranpast Gyas, in Chimaera's ponderous hulk,of pilot now bereft; at last remainsCloanthus his sole peer, whom he pursueswith a supreme endeavor. From the shoreburst echoing cheers that spur him to the chase,and wild applause makes all the welkin ring.The leaders now with eager souls would scornto Iose their glory, and faint-hearted failto grasp a prize half-won, but fain would buyhonor with life itself; the followers tooare flushed with proud success, and feel them strongbecause their strength is proven. Both ships nowwith indistinguishable prows had spedto share one prize,—but with uplifted handsspread o'er the sea, Cloanthus, suppliant,called on the gods to bless his votive prayer:“Ye gods who rule the waves, whose waters bemy pathway now; for you on yonder stranda white bull at the altar shall be slainin grateful tribute for a granted vow;and o'er the salt waves I will scatter farthe entrails, and outpour the flowing wine.”He spoke; and from the caverns under seaPhorcus and virgin Panopea heard,and all the sea-nymphs' choir; while with strong handthe kindly God of Havens rose and thrustthe gliding ship along, that swifter flewthan south wind, or an arrow from the string,and soon made land in haven safe and sure. Aeneas then, assembling all to hear,by a far-sounding herald's voice proclaimedCloanthus victor, and arrayed his browswith the green laurel-garland; to the crewsthree bulls, at choice, were given, and plenteous wineand talent-weight of silver; to the chiefsillustrious gifts beside; the victor hada gold-embroidered mantle with wide bandof undulant Meliboean purple rare,where, pictured in the woof, young Ganymedethrough Ida's forest chased the light-foot deerwith javelin; all flushed and panting he.But lo! Jove's thunder-bearing eagle fell,and his strong talons snatched from Ida farthe royal boy, whose aged servitorsreached helpless hands to heaven; his faithful houndbayed fiercely at the air. To him whose worththe second place had won, Aeneas gavea smooth-linked golden corselet, triple-chained,of which his own victorious hand despoiledDemoleos, by the swift, embattled streamof Simois, under Troy,—and bade it bea glory and defence on valor's field;scarce might the straining shoulders of two slaves,Phegeus and Sagaris, the load endure,yet oft Demoleos in this armor dressedcharged down full speed on routed hosts of Troy.The third gift was two cauldrons of wrought brass,and bowls of beaten silver, cunninglyembossed with sculpture fair. Bearing such gifts,th' exultant victors onward moved, each browbound with a purple fillet. But behold!Sergestus, from the grim rock just dragged offby cunning toil, one halting rank of oarsleft of his many lost, comes crawling inwith vanquished ship, a mockery to all.As when a serpent, on the highway caught,some brazen wheel has crushed, or travellerwith heavy-smiting blow left half aliveand mangled by a stone; in vain he movesin writhing flight; a part is lifted highwith hissing throat and angry, glittering eyes;but by the wounded part a captive stillhe knots him fold on fold: with such a trackthe maimed ship labored slow; but by her sailsshe still made way, and with full canvas onarrived at land. Aeneas then bestoweda boon upon Sergestus, as was meetfor reward of the ship in safety broughtwith all its men; a fair slave was the prize,the Cretan Pholoe, well taught to weave,and twin boy-babes upon her breast she bore. Then good Aeneas, the ship-contest o'er,turned to a wide green valley, circled roundwith clasp of wood-clad hills, wherein was madean amphitheatre; entering with a throngof followers, the hero took his seatin mid-arena on a lofty mound.For the fleet foot-race, now, his summons flies, —he offers gifts, and shows the rewards due.The mingling youth of Troy and Sicily
hastened from far. Among the foremost camethe comrades Nisus and Euryalus,Euryalus for beauty's bloom renowned,Nisus for loyal love; close-following theseDiores strode, a prince of Priam's line;then Salius and Patron, who were bredin Acarnania and Arcady;then two Sicilian warriors, Helymusand Panopes, both sylvan bred and born,comrades of King Acestes; after thesethe multitude whom Fame forgets to tell.Aeneas, so surrounded, thus spake forth:“Hear what I purpose, and with joy receive!of all your company, not one departswith empty hand. The Cretan javelinsbright-tipped with burnished steel, and battle-axeadorned with graven silver, these shall bethe meed of all. The three first at the goalshall bind their foreheads with fair olive green,and win the rewards due. The first shall lead,victorious, yon rich-bridled steed away;this Amazonian quiver, the next prize,well-stocked with Thracian arrows; round it goesa baldrick broad and golden,—in its claspa lustrous gem. The third man goes awaytaking this helmet from the Argive spoil.”